Sunday

Super Sunday!

Saturday Una and I drove Veloc to visit our dear friends in the Bucktown area of Chicago: Laura, Joe and Pen the Pup. Pen had very generously invited Houston for her first sleepover. Single ladies night!

First off was birthday dinner for the humans at La Madia. It was delicious - the tastiest bruschetta ever (whipped ricotta cheese with marsala glaze and wild mushroom topping), beet and blue cheese salad, pizza fondue (cheesy tomatoe fondue with doughy bread to dip with) . . . followed by a trip to Underground, Chicago's answer to the New York nightclub.

Personally, I was hoping for a professional athlete dance-off which I would happily have refereed (the NY Post sighted Ben Roethlisberger and teammates there a few weeks ago), but no such luck. Instead I witnessed a confused Jon getting hit on, some amazing ensembles - mom jeans in leather material? happened! - and the bottom side of an empty lemon drop shot. Genius idea at 1:30 AM. We returned home at 2:30 in the morning (hell yeah, bitches! - sorry, Mom) to find two very sorry-looking puppies sitting right by the elevator door.
Not good.

BECAUSE there was a collection of giant, Houston-sized poops in the hallway.
Really not good.

Discovered after Joe stepped right into the biggest pile.
And stupendous.

Not only did we bring the dog who played with Pen's toys while simultaneously ignoring said toy owner, who terrified our kind, furry host with her old lady, anxiety-induced stalker heavy breathing (Houston is known as "Panic Pants" after the lovely 14-hour drive from NYC to Milwaukee, and yes, I've considered calling friends late at night and just putting the phone to her snout), we also brought the guest who . . . crapped on the floor. Which the owner stepped in. Thanks for having us!

Suffice it to say hungover was the word of the day Sunday. Our poor homeowner had a case of the upset stomach, likely prompted by the giant doodoo he stepped into in the wee hours.

All in all, a blooming success in Chicago. We like to leave our mark wherever we go.

Side Note: Houston is totally fine. Even when she pants like she's about to deliver a child (and she does this at home, too), she wags her tail and smiles at you. The heavy breathing is unnerving for other dogs.